“Who do you think is doing this?”
Ethan’s gaze slid away from hers toward the hearth. “I don’t know.”
“Ethan.”
“I don’t know, Kannice. I’m … I don’t know.”
“But you suspect, don’t you? I know you do. You believe it’s Ramsey.”
He chanced a look at her. Despite the dim light in the great room, he could see that her cheeks had gone pale.
“Aye,” he said in a whisper. “I can’t think of another conjurer who possesses both the skill and the ill nature to do something this … evil. But I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
“Of course you do.”
He dipped his chin, closing his eyes. “I’ve assumed all along that he survived the fire at Drake’s Wharf, and that he would return eventually. I had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.”
Kannice put her arms around him again, and he pulled her close.
“He nearly killed you last time,” she murmured, “and now he has more cause than ever to hate you.”
There was little Ethan could say; she was right on both points.
“What will you do?” she asked, looking up into his eyes.
“I’ll find him, I’ll learn what he wants this time, and if I have to, I’ll kill him.”
She took a deep breath and rested her head against his chest.
“First, though, I need to speak with Mariz, and perhaps I should see Janna again as well. It may be that they know more about this type of conjuring than I do.”
“Well, you’re not going out again tonight, so take off that coat and come upstairs with me.”
He was in no mood to argue. “Yes, ma’am.”
Dreams of Nate Ramsey and their previous encounters haunted Ethan’s sleep and woke him for good early in the morning. He slipped out of bed, dressed without waking Kannice, and descended the stairs to the tavern. Once more, he took some bread from the kitchen and left a few coins in the bar till. He stirred the coals in the hearth of the great room, and put two more logs on the gleaming embers. Soon he had a fine blaze burning. He settled into a chair by the fire and chewed his bread.
When he had finished, he pulled his knife from the sheath on his belt, pushed up his sleeve, and cut his forearm. “Locus magi ex cruore evocatus.” Location of conjurer, conjured from blood.
The spell rumbled in the floor and walls of the tavern, and his conjuring spread through the city, like ripples in a pond.
“Good morning,” Ethan said to Reg, who had winked into view near the fire.
Reg stood straight-backed, his head cocked to the side, as if he were waiting to see what the spell revealed.
“Did you find Ramsey?” Ethan asked.
The ghost shook his head. Despite his disappointment, Ethan was hardly surprised. Ramsey would never make things so easy for him.
For the same reason, he didn’t expect his simple finding spell to work on the captain, but he still held out hope that some other conjurer was responsible for the spells he had felt. His finding spell revealed a conjurer in the North End; he assumed it was Grant. He also sensed two more a good distance to the south: most likely Mariz and Janna. And there seemed to be one more conjurer in the center of Boston, not far from the Dowser; he wasn’t sure who this might be. But he found no conjurers near the waterfront or on the harbor. He would need to find this fourth conjurer, though he thought it unlikely that Ramsey, if he were alive, would venture so far into the city.
Reg watched him, avid, eyes glowing.
“Perhaps it’s not Captain Ramsey after all,” Ethan said to the ghost. “We might have to do some hunting later today.”
The ghost grinned, then faded from view. Ethan stood and pulled on his greatcoat. As he did, he heard Kannice stirring upstairs.
“Ethan?” she called down to him.
“I’m still here. But I was about to leave.”
She descended the stairs, wearing a robe, her hair still disheveled. “Where are you going?”
“Sephira Pryce’s estate.”
“Are you serious?”
“I told you I wished to speak with Mariz. That’s where I’ll find him.”
“Haven’t you told me that she doesn’t approve of your friendship with Mariz?”
He made no effort to conceal his amusement. “Aye.”
She arched an eyebrow. “There are times when it seems that you go out of your way to antagonize her.”
“Well, a man needs a hobby.”
“I’m serious, Ethan. She’s no more fond of you than you are of her, and she has never been shy about threatening your life or ordering her brutes to beat you bloody.”
“She hates Nate Ramsey more than she hates me. When I tell her that he may be back, she’ll be willing to let me speak with her pet conjurer. And I’ve just sensed another conjurer here in the city. She might want to know about that as well.”
Kannice narrowed her eyes. “Do you think she’s beautiful?”
“I don’t think it,” he said, without pausing to ponder his words. “I know it.”
She pressed her lips thin. “That was not the response I was looking for.”
Ethan walked to where she stood and took her hands in his. “Am I to understand that you’re jealous of Sephira Pryce?”
Kannice’s gaze dropped. “Well, you could have been a bit less adamant about how lovely she is.”
“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. She’s a hag, toadlike in appearance. I’ve seen sows that were more attractive.”
She laughed.
“Would you have believed me if I’d said that?”
“Probably not, but it would have been nice to hear.”
He lifted her chin with a finger, making her look him in the eye, and he kissed her softly on the lips. “First of all, Sephira Pryce, while beautiful, is the cruelest, most wicked, least trustworthy, most self-affected person I have ever met. And second, her beauty, while undeniable, is nothing next to yours.”
Kannice smiled. “Now that was much better. You should have started with that.”
“All right. Ask me again.”
She laughed once more. “That’s not-”
“Ask me again.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you think Sephira Pryce is beautiful?”
“Sephira Pryce,” he said, scratching his chin. “I’m not sure I know who that is. Oh, of course. You’re referring to that mean old sow who lives on Summer Street. I suppose she might be attractive to some-mostly the blind and the infirm.”
“Leave,” Kannice said, a thread of laughter lingering in her voice. She pushed him toward the door.
“But I haven’t gotten to the part where she’s not as lovely as you.”
“I don’t care. Go away.”
“I’ll be back later.”
“I’ll have moved to Newport.”
It was his turn to laugh. She followed him to the door so that she could unbolt the lock. He stepped out into the bright daylight, but then turned back to her. “Lock the door.”
“Kelf will be here soon.”
“And when he arrives you can unlock it.”
“My lock is not going to stop Nate Ramsey.”
She was right, of course, though he didn’t care to be reminded of this.
“Humor me,” he said.
There was a note of indulgence in her voice as she said, “All right.”
He struck out southward along Sudbury Street, which soon became Treamount. The lanes were more crowded this day, and the snow had been trampled down further, making walking far easier than it had been even the night before. Carriages and chaises steered past him, the hoofbeats of their horses muffled, the turning of their wheels on the packed snow as quiet as the gliding of sleigh runners.
The sky was a deep azure and cloudless. An eagle circled on splayed wings high overhead, white and chestnut against the blue. Lower, gulls soared in great flocks, their cries sounding thin and mournful.